


heal me (after you break me)

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: She hates Lexa’s smirk as much as she loves it. “Is me being in love with you that awful of a concept?”Rage is familiar. She welcomes it. “No, it’s that unfathomable.” She’s pretty proud of herself for pronouncing that word. “And cruel.” Here it is.“Cruel,” Lexa says, as if tasting the word. She nods.“After everything that’s happened between us, it’s cruel,” she whispers,” so cruel of you to say that when it’s not true.” Because it’s not, and that’s exactly why she’s sitting here, in an empty bar at three in the morning, drowning her thoughts in whiskey. That’s exactly why she’s rehashing every year, every month, every moment they’ve had together.Lexa can’t be in love with her. You don’t do these things to people you love. You don’t tell people you love that you don’t do relationships, only to start dating someone else. You don’t flaunt your conquests in their face. You don’t run from them any chance you get.//or, both of them love each other and think neither reciprocates and it's a big ole mess. with plenty of make-up sex ahead.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 27
Kudos: 287





	heal me (after you break me)

**Author's Note:**

> dug this up on my patreon and thought i'd finish the third and last chapter for my patrons next week while sharing the first two with everyone here

It’s a tale as old as time, or something equally as cliche and pretentious. Clarke loves Lexa, and Lexa - sometimes, Clarke thinks Lexa doesn’t love anyone. Not even herself. 

Even though she’s said -- but she needs to start from the beginning. 

// 

They met on a playground. Clarke’s parents had just moved the day before, and they let their daughter go and explore while they dealt with everything that came with buying a new house. Clarke didn’t mind. She liked the sweet summer air much more than the dust in her room. 

“It’s a fixer-upper, but we’ll manage,” her mom told her. She believed her. Nine-year-olds have a tendency to trust their parents; it’s not gone yet, not shattered by too many promises left empty. So she nodded, took her teddy bear, adjusted the straps on her overalls and ran down the street. The street was boring. Identical houses and green yards and white fences. Nothing she hasn’t seen before. Now, the forest - that was a different story. Of course, now, when Clarke is twenty two and alone in a bar at midnight drunkenly recalling her childhood, she knows it wasn’t an actual forest. Just a small park for the kids to play in. But back then, oh, back then it was straight out of a fairytale. Tall green trees she could get lost in. And so she did. 

When she first saw Lexa, she thought she was a fairy at first. But fairies don’t spit so much and they certainly don’t swear like that, Clarke knows now. 

That day was a day of many firsts. The first time she saw the playground, and Lexa, and someone else’s blood. Lexa was spitting it out, wiping her busted lip with a scowl that Clarke will think is permanent for the next several months. Her jeans were dirty, as was her old tshirt, as were her hands and arms. She looked like she was rolling around on the ground before Clarke came here, and that’s pretty much what was going on, except she wasn’t doing that because she wanted to. 

Clarke clutched her teddy to her chest. Mom told her to try and make friends, and there was no one around but this weird, dirty fairy - and she had to be a fairy with eyes that bright, little Clarke reasoned. Vibrant, fiery green, they couldn’t belong to a human, could they? “Hey,” she said quietly, and the girl - Lexa, Clarke thinks in the present,  _ Lexa  _ \- sharply looked up, startled, wary. “Are you hurt?” 

The girl kept silent for a while, simply studying Clarke. Then, seemingly having decided she wasn’t a threat, she replied, her voice oddly soft, a sharp contrast to her, frankly, bandit appearance. “A little bit.” 

To this day, Clarke has no idea why she said what she said. Sometimes, she hates herself for it. Sometimes, she can’t imagine saying anything else. “I live near. Right there,” she pointed behind herself with her teddy, and Lexa warily watched her pigtails bounce. “My mom’s a doctor.” 

“I can’t go to a doctor,” Lexa protested immediately, quiet but strong. She stood still, neither coming closer to Clarke nor running away. 

Clarke grinned. “She’s not really a  _ doctor  _ doctor when she’s at home, silly,” she said, and, even though Lexa’s green eyes lit up unkindly at the word, she kept silent, letting Clarke finish her thought. “At home, she’s just mom. She’ll help you.” 

Lexa was quiet for a full minute, it seemed. Clarke wonders if their lives would’ve turned out any different if she declined. But she didn’t. 

“Okay,” she nodded, only once and only slightly. 

Clarke suppressed the urge to squeal. “I’m Clarke,” she announced, and her smile dimmed when Lexa didn’t shake her hand, instead choosing to study it from afar. 

They almost reached Clarke’s new house, in complete silence, when the limping girl spoke up. “I’m Lexa.” 

//

Turned out Lexa was two years older than Clarke. Turned out Lexa was a foster kid, and she really liked her foster family and didn’t want to have to move again, and that’s why she didn’t want to go to a doctor. Tall scary men in suits would’ve decided her foster family was beating her up and would’ve sent her to someone who would actually beat her up. Indra didn’t beat her, she said. Neither did Gustus. Kids from school did. They didn’t like that Lexa didn’t have new clothes, she guessed. 

Clarke already didn’t like her new school. She also didn’t like the fact that Lexa refused to tell her anything, but spilled the beans to her dad. She loved her dad, she really did, but Lexa was her friend first! She found her. Not her dad. She didn’t like the feeling in her chest when she watched him quietly talk to a solemn-looking Lexa, his large hands covering hers. It was tight and suffocating and her stomach felt funny. 

If only she knew how many times she’d have to endure that very feeling because of Lexa - would she have chosen differently? Would she have been able to choose differently? Because, no matter how much it sucks, no matter how much she tried, people can’t choose who they fall in love with. 

“Your room is nice,” Lexa told her when they went upstairs after Clarke’s mom cleaned her cuts and checked her bruises. 

Clarke beamed. “Thank you,” she said. “You can stay if you wanna.” 

But Lexa shook her head no. “I need to go home. I can’t stay for dinner. Tell your mom I said sorry, okay?” And all Clarke could do was gape when Lexa gave her an awkward one-armed hug and climbed straight out of her window with little effort. She looked like she’s done it before, and she has; later, she’d tell Clarke about it. Later, she would also tell her she did that because Clarke was cute and she wanted to impress her and it was hard to do so after she saw her beaten up and defeated, so she had to improvise. Clarke won’t tell her she succeeded, but she did. 

But all of that would happen later, and that day, Clarke was left standing in her room, clutching her bear to her chest and wondering if her new friend was a superhero. 

She never stopped believing that, until the very last moment. Despite everyone telling her otherwise.

// 

Lexa continued to get in fights, and Clarke’s mom continued to help her with no questions asked, even though she still refused to stay for dinner. 

“I don’t wanna be a freeloader,” she explained to Clarke when she backed her into a corner and she had no other option but to tell her why she won’t eat with them.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes. “It takes more than dinner to be a freeloader,” she told her, and Lexa had no choice but to stay. They watched her silently pack away the food like it was nothing, and no one said anything. Next day, Clarke’s mom made sure to put more on Lexa’s plate. 

When school started and a boy named Bellamy Blake yanked on Clarke’s pigtails and called them stupid, Lexa sent him to the nurse and herself to the principal’s office. Clarke’s mom had a fit. Clarke’s dad baked Lexa’s favorite cookies. 

“She was defending her girl!” he tried to defend Lexa when his wife scolded him for ‘perpetuating violence’. Clarke, who crouched behind the wall, eavesdropping, didn’t know what that meant yet, but she made sure to remember and ask later. 

“They are kids, Jacob,” Clarke’s mother hissed. “Clarke’s nine, and Lexa’s a girl.” 

Clarke remembers her father’s voice grew strong and serious. “A girl who’s doing a damn fine job of protecting her when needed,” he points out. “I know they are kids, but Lexa’s better than any boy around here from what I’ve seen.” 

“She’s from a broken home.” 

“Poor doesn’t mean broken.” Her parents grew silent for a moment, and Clarke almost let her curiosity get the best of her and peeked from behind the wall when her dad spoke again. “Sometimes, I… It’s like I don’t know you anymore, Abby.” 

“This is ridiculous!” her mom yells. 

“Tell me this - you would be all over this if Lexa was a boy, wouldn’t you?” As their voices rose, Clarke decided she didn’t need to hear more, and creeped back to her room, where Lexa waited, pale and frowning. 

“Am I in trouble?” she asked darkly as soon as she saw Clarke appear in the doorway. Her scowl was back, and that day, Clarke got the urge to gently smooth her brows with her thumb for the first time. 

Instead, she shook her head no and climbed on the bed, patting the mattress so Lexa would sit next to her. “No. Dad thinks you did great.” 

Lexa scoffed, and like most things she does, it made her look years older. “Your mom hates me, though.” 

“No she doesn’t,” Clarke felt the need to defend her mom. “She just doesn’t like fighting.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Lexa mumbled to herself, but Clarke didn’t hear that. “Okay,” she said louder. “I don’t need more adults screaming at me.” She scowls again and kicks at the floor, not looking at Clarke when she speaks again. “And… You know your tails aren’t stupid, right? Bellamy’s the only stupid thing here.” 

Clarke wanted to hug her, but Lexa didn’t like it when people touched her, so she nodded and grabbed her teddy, hugging him instead. “I know.” 

Lexa relaxed. “Good.” She finally climbed in beside Clarke and let her choose a channel on a small, old tv she had in her room, and when Clarke fell asleep, she left through the window like she usually did. 

// 

They never really dated, and that’s probably what hurts the most, Clarke thinks bitterly as she downs another shot. The way it all started was bizarre and while it was wonderful in its own fucked up way, it wasn’t something fairytales were made of. 

Clarke was nearing sixteen and she wanted to lose her ‘kissing virginity’ - what a stupid concept, she thinks now - and there was no one she trusted more than Lexa. 

She didn’t exactly count on it feeling so good she’d end up losing her actual virginity, but that’s exactly what happened. Lexa kissed her and she didn’t want her to stop. So she didn’t. 

“Are you sure?” she remembers her asking breathlessly, fingers caressing her sides. She’d only ever done that when she tickled her, but in that moment, Clarke didn’t want to laugh. There was a strange, foreign fire starting in her lower stomach that became a heavy, pleasant ache, and she knew Lexa could take care of it. Of her. 

“I am,” she replied, but Lexa wasn’t done talking. 

“Clarke, I’m not - we’re not gonna be holding hands and going to picnics after this,” she told her, eyes blazing green. “I’m not looking for a relationship.” 

It hurt, and maybe that hurt gave her the strength to push Lexa onto her back and straddle her hips. “Just shut up and fuck me,” she growled against her lips before giving her a demanding kiss, entirely unlike the first one they shared. 

As far as first times go, that was probably one of the less conventional ones, Clarke thinks with a smirk. But it was a damn good one. Lexa clearly knew what she was doing, and Clarke was irritated enough about it to not be scared. She didn’t want to think about the reason for her irritation then, and she doesn’t want to do it now. 

Admitting she was jealous didn’t do her any good, anyway. 

She remembers Lexa’s hands being greedy. But gentle, too. Soft. Lexa was hard muscle under soft, hot skin, and it burned wherever they touched. She used to think her first time wouldn’t last long. She was ready for it to hurt, and she was ready to not feel much aside from that pain. Girls talked about it at school, and that seemed to be the general agreement. 

In other words, the bar was set extremely low, and Lexa didn’t have to do much to seem a good enough lover. It’s not like Clarke had anything to compare it to. But she was always an overachiever in some things, Clarke thinks with a wry smile. 

It certainly helped that she was already in love with her, even though she wasn’t ready to admit it. Wouldn’t be ready for a long time. 

She wonders if Lexa knew - but she doesn’t want to think about it. She wants to think about Lexa’s lips that moved against her own with the slightest tint of hesitation, even after she gave her full consent. It’s like - as if she was afraid of hurting her. Too bad she’s not talking to her right now - this is a very good question to ask. She has a lot of them. Try obsessing over one night for several years and not have any questions about it. 

She’s not making much sense, is she? They never did, to most people. But Clarke doesn’t give a flying fuck about most people. 

Green eyes flash in her mind, wide and desperate, and she curses, taking another shot. 

//

If Clarke had to pinpoint the exact moment when everything went wrong, she wouldn’t be able to, because there were so many. She missed Lexa’s graduation because her grandmother died, and Lexa missed Clarke’s last Prom because she spent that night in jail. Clarke remembers waking up to several missed calls from Anya, Lexa’s college roommate, and driving there, mad and scared, because Lexa’s an idiot and Lexa should’ve been there last night but she chose a stupid bar fight over her. And of course, all of her anger dissipated as soon as she saw her, disheveled, her rented tux crumpled and her signature scowl back on her face - a scowl that disappeared as soon as she saw her. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, retrieving a battered single red rose from her inside pocket. “This was supposed to be for you, but - I’m sorry.” 

“Figures you’d apologize for something that’s not your fault,” Anya snorted next to her, slapping her shoulder. 

Clarke only looked between them. “What the hell happened?” 

“Hell,” Anya guffawed. “That’s exactly what happened.” She calms down when she notices two unamused stares fixed on her. “Geez, lighten up. It’s not a big deal. Lexa got caught in a bar brawl. It’s kinda my fault she was there in the first place, I asked her to fetch something for me.” 

Clarke crossed her arms over her chest, arching one eyebrow. “From a bar?” 

“The owner is Anya’s cousin,” Lexa said quietly. She looked… Well. Lexa had never really looked bad, but in that moment, she didn’t look too good, either. Clarke gave her a quick once over. A band-aid over her eyebrow - that would probably leave a permanent scar. A bruised cheekbone, a busted lip, a cut chin - wounds that were mostly artificial, but together gave Lexa a battered, dark look. 

Clarke cursed herself at the familiar tingling at the base of her spine. 

“I’m sorry I missed your Prom.” 

Idiot. Clarke scowled. “Fuck Prom,” she almost growled, making Anya whistle under her breath. “Why didn’t you call me? You had to have had one call. Why didn’t you call me?” She would’ve picked up. There was no way she could have missed it. The whole night, her phone was glued to her hand, and she checked it every ten minutes for missed texts and calls that never came. 

Lexa’s gaze was wide-eyed and, Clarke noted with satisfaction, just a little bit guilty. “I - it was… Anya was closer than you. And it’s Prom.” 

They both knew what Lexa wasn’t saying.  _ You got too close,  _ she could read in her gaze.  _ This is me taking a step back. _

Clarke suddenly got the urge to add to Lexa’s injuries. Maybe she would’ve slapped her if her face wasn’t already messed up. “I don’t care about fucking Prom.” She intended for it to be snappy. Instead, she sounded weary. Exhausted and quiet. She sighed and continued, ignoring Anya’s cackling. “The hotel room is booked for another day. You could get some sleep and clean up if you want. Less questions to answer in the dorms.” She half-wanted to give Lexa the key and walk away. She thinks she almost did, but something in green eyes, moist and sparkling, had stopped her. 

Something Lexa told her about today - but she’s not,  _ she is not _ thinking about it. 

They drove in silence, and when they reached the hotel, Lexa disappeared in the bathroom, leaving Clarke to stand in the middle of the room. 

She curled up on a king-sized bed, sneakers and a hoodie on, and she was almost dozing off when she felt the mattress dip next to her and deft fingers undoing the knots on her shoes, taking them off for her. 

“I’m sure you looked stunning,” Lexa said, still wet from her shower, and the quiet regret in her voice made Clarke turn and bury her face in her neck. 

“You’ll freeze,” she mumbled, sliding her hands down Lexa’s naked sides and smiling in spite of herself when she felt the muscles jump, ripple under warm skin. 

Instead of answering, Lexa maneuvered them around until they were under the covers. Clarke clothed and her naked. Life is an ironic bitch, Clarke thought sleepily. 

“There are spare clothes in the closet,” she gave Lexa one last chance at distancing herself again. Hoped she would take it, because these swings they found themselves on for the last eight years and counting were getting really old. 

She felt a tear slip out when Lexa pressed a small, discreet kiss to her head. “Sleep.” 

//

How many times did they break it off? Was there anything to break off? 

Friends with benefits never work when one party wants to be so much more than just friends. 

She remembers the first time she told Lexa they had to stop. God, it got so ugly so fast. In her defense, she was too naive to think Lexa would be - what? Faithful to her? She explicitly stated she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Really, it was her own damn fault. 

It didn’t stop the overwhelming, blinding  _ pain _ in her chest at seeing Lexa kiss another girl at some party she didn’t even want to go to. 

She thinks that maybe, just maybe, that was the moment the realization made itself known, dangling right there, ready to be plucked if only she wanted to. She chose not to. 

She just knew being with Lexa hurt now. Thinking of being with Lexa hurt, because she couldn’t erase the image from her mind: Lexa and a girl, tall, blonde, thin,  _ beautiful _ girl locked in an embrace that was anything but innocent. Lexa’s hands on the girl’s waist. On her hips next. Lexa’s tongue in her mouth. 

Clarke felt sick, and she let her legs carry her away from that party, from that house, from that image forever etched across her eyelids. 

Lexa came for her later that night, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed. “I was looking all over for you.” She wanted to cry at the relief in her voice. 

“I didn’t feel good,” she chose to state from under the covers. Why didn’t she close her window? 

A soft thud let her know Lexa climbed inside. She didn’t turn. “Clarke?” she sounded worried, and it just made everything worse. She was worried for her friend. For Clarke the girl next door who was never going to be anything more than cuddles on the couch and an occasional fuck. “Did something happen? Did someone… hurt you?” Lexa paused as if the thought caused her physical pain. Funny. She was the one to do that to Clarke. 

But that wasn’t fair. They were never anything but friends. Maybe it would be better for both of them if they remained that way. “No,” she replied, voice rough with unshed tears. “I just want to sleep.” 

Lexa took several seconds to respond. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you feel better.” Clarke lay there, listening. Silence. Then, shuffling and quiet footsteps. Her window creaking when opened. 

“Lex.” 

Pause. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” She cleared her throat when Lexa kept silent. “I don’t - I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep having sex. With each other, I mean. I want to go back to being friends.” 

“We are friends.” 

“Regular friends, then.” She couldn’t stop a bitter laugh from escaping. “You know, the kind that doesn’t eat each other out.” 

“Oh.” Lexa’s voice was unreadable. “The boring kind.” 

“Yeah.” She swallows. “Boring. I want boring.” 

She never expected Lexa to cling to them. “Why?” 

She blinked at the dark, her back still facing Lexa who was, if her observations were correct, perched on her windowsill, ready to leap, but not quite. “What?” 

“Why do you want to stop? Did I do something wrong?” 

Clarke didn’t move. “Interesting question.” She imagined Lexa clenching her jaw at that, in faint irritation. She was always good at getting under Lexa’s skin where others failed. Tonight, she wanted to push her buttons. Just a little. But mostly, she just wanted her to leave.

“I don’t like riddles.” Lexa’s voice was quiet. Calculated.

Clarke scoffed. “I don’t like the thought of STDs, yet here we are.” 

“What?” Lexa’s confusion was unmistakable. “What are you talking about?” 

Maybe she should have kept quiet. Laughed it off and told Lexa she was tired and she'd see her in the morning. 

Lexa was hoisting that other girl on her hips in her mind, and her hurt decided for her. “You’re sleeping with other people,” she said simply. “I don’t judge, do whatever you want, it’s your body, but I don’t want to risk mine. I’m clean and I’d like to stay that way.” 

Lexa stayed silent for so long after that, Clarke almost rolled over to look at her. But then: “If that’s the reason, then I’ll stop.” Said quietly and strongly. The way Lexa spoke when something important was at stake.

Clarke didn’t let her heart leap into her throat. “What?” 

“I’ll stop having sex with other girls. If that’s the reason you want to stop. But - you have to tell me that it’s the only reason.” It grew suddenly hot under the blanket, almost stifling, because that was the first time any of them even breached the topic of  _ more. _ “Is it? I won’t…” her voice grew softer, and the lump in Clarke’s throat grew bigger. “You don’t have to tell me about other reasons, but if there are-” 

“No.” She was tired. Lexa was giving her an out. Lexa was letting her say it without saying it - without even having to admit it to herself. “No. That’s not the only reason.” 

She heard a sigh, She thought that if she’d turn, she’d find Lexa’s sad stare on her. “I was honest with you from the start, Clarke.” She knew, but it didn’t make it hurt any less - how did Lexa not get it? “I’m sorry. Text me if you still want to see me tomorrow.” There was a pause - the kind of pause where everyone knows there’s so much more to say, and neither chooses to. “Good night.” 

Next morning, when she invited Lexa to join them at breakfast, they didn’t speak about last night. They didn’t speak about any of the nights they’ve shared ever since Lexa first took her. 

// 

What a fucking mess. 

Lexa clearly agrees with her. She stands there, leather jacket black and eyeliner angry, and Clarke blinks, not sure if she’s actually there or if her trip down memory lane conjured her image up. 

“You know,” Lexa says quietly, sitting next to her at the bar and signaling for the bartender to come, “if I knew my love confession would drive you to alcoholism…” 

Clarke snorts. Real Lexa it is, then. “You and I both know this is nowhere near enough to get me drunk,” she gestures at the shot glasses. So far, there are four. She’s nursing a beer in-between. 

“I just know you’re hurting.” 

Well that’s just not fair. “Whose fault is that?” 

She watches Lexa smirk and down a shot, wincing when cheap whiskey burns its way down her throat. “Mine,” she says simply. “I’m here to make it right.” 

“What, you’ll fuck me to sleep?” 

Lexa shakes her head, and her loose waves stream down her shoulders, thick and beautiful. “Stop pushing me away. It won’t work.” 

“Oh, but I want it to.” Okay, maybe she’s a little bit drunk. “This is me hinting you should go away. I’m not done dealing.” 

She hates Lexa’s smirk as much as she loves it. “Is me being in love with you that awful of a concept?” 

Rage is familiar. She welcomes it. “No, it’s that unfathomable.” She’s pretty proud of herself for pronouncing that word. “And cruel.” Here it is. 

“Cruel,” Lexa says, as if tasting the word. She nods. 

“After everything that’s happened between us, it’s cruel,” she whispers,” so cruel of you to say that when it’s not true.” Because it’s not, and that’s exactly why she’s sitting here, in an empty bar at three in the morning, drowning her thoughts in whiskey. That’s exactly why she’s rehashing every year, every month, every moment they’ve had together. 

Lexa can’t be in love with her. You don’t do these things to people you love. You don’t tell people you love that you don’t do relationships, only to start dating someone else. You don’t flaunt your conquests in their face. You don’t run from them any chance you get. 

Clarke isn’t looking at Lexa when she speaks. That’s why she doesn’t expect her next words to be so soft. “I’m sorry,” Lexa says, “that I gave you enough reason to doubt me. But I think that… I think that, while loving me, you forgot that we’re not just lovers. We’re friends, too, and you know me better than anyone, Clarke.” She thinks she feels the heat from Lexa’s hand as it rests near hers, too hesitant to touch. “I wouldn’t do this to a friend. Whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s not it.” 

“How can you possibly know what I’m thinking right now?” 

Lexa’s smile is wry and sad when she finally turns to look at her. “You also forget I know you better than anyone, too.” She swallows, but her gaze stays on Clarke’s despite how visibly difficult it is for her. “You think I’m alone. And sad. And you think I need you to warm my bed tonight. You think I’m upset you decided to end things between us. Again. And you think I’m saying this to make you stay.” Green eyes are intense, too intense, alight with fire she’s never seen in them before, and so she lowers her eyes first. Lexa continues. “You think I’m doing this to hurt you, or use you, or-” 

“I don’t think that,” Clarke interrupts her quietly. “You’re not that much of an asshole.” 

“But you think I’m asshole enough to lie to you about my feelings.” 

She swallows. “Maybe you think it’s actually true, but it’s not.” 

Lexa doesn’t argue. She doesn’t shout and she doesn’t clench her jaw. She sits there, studying Clarke with something she’s afraid to call tender. A full minute passes before she speaks. “Do you think I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” 

Clarke blows out a sigh. “Sometimes, I do,” she admits in a soft voice, and watches Lexa’s hand tighten around her glass. “Just to feel better. But you’re not. That’s way too much credit.” 

Oh, that fucking smirk. “Of course.” She waits for Clarke to speak, but Clarke doesn’t feel like talking. Lexa mistakes that for her cue to continue. Or, perhaps, she sees through Clarke’s defenses and does exactly what she wants, even if she’s not strong enough to admit it to herself. “I used to think you were the best thing to ever happen to me, you know. I still think that, sometimes, but it’s hard to do that after… After everything that’s happened between us.” This time, she does lock her jaw, and Clarke suppresses the urge to run her fingers across the bone. “After Finn. Bellamy.” 

“Or Costia.” She’s not going to let her throw thinly veiled accusations around when she was the one who started it. Childish. She doesn’t care. 

Lexa’s eyes blaze green. “Costia was never a tool to make you jealous,” she says in a low tone. It’s a dangerous one. Clarke’s learned to differentiate between Lexa’s various voices and moods. 

She doesn’t fucking care. “Yes, she was,” she snaps, looking up to meet green eyes. “You started dating her immediately after I started dating Finn. I’m not stupid, Lexa.” 

“Why did you start dating him?” Old hurt spills from Lexa and mixes with Clarke’s. 

She shrugs. “I was horny. He was there. You wouldn’t sleep with me.” 

Lexa almost chokes from the sheer audacity of Clarke’s statement, and it’s almost, almost enough to make her grin. “You were the one who broke up with me,” her voice rises ever so slightly when she makes her - admittedly, fair - point. “Over and over again.” 

Except… “Broke up with you?” She laughs. “Weren’t you the one who reminded me it wasn’t a relationship any chance you got?” 

Lexa stands up, suddenly, and Clarke’s half-afraid she’ll turn around and leave and she’ll never see her again. But she stays put. Brushes a trembling hand through her hair and breathes through her nose, loudly. “No,” she says. “This is going so wrong. That’s not -- Clarke. Please.” 

“You’re the one who started it,” she mumbles into her beer. 

Lexa most definitely rolls her eyes at that. She doesn’t need to look at her to know that. She does anyway. “I know you’re hurt, and confused, and lost,” Lexa starts again, careful, slow. Clarke feels like a caged animal. “But I ask you to think back and… Remember that I was never the one who’s started it.” 

Clarke laughs, because that’s all she’s been doing this entire time, and that’s not the point at all. “You were the only one who could end it,” she replies, just as quietly. They both know she’s not talking about sex. Lexa was the one who could make that one final leap. One step. Meet her halfway, hell, one third of the way, and let her fall apart in her arms. 

But Lexa doesn’t back down. “What do you think I’m doing now?” 

_ Making my life miserable, _ Clarke wants to say, but what comes out instead is a tired: “What do you want, Lexa?” 

“A chance to explain.” 

It’s so late, or too early, and she’s so tired and drunk. Drunk enough to entertain the possibility. 

The chair scrapes on the hardwood floor when she pushes it towards Lexa with her foot, nodding. “I’m all ears.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i got stuff at [my tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com) too y'all pop by to say hi


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